If Words were Rivers
by Whitefang1407
Summary: A potential collection of one-shots revolving around Kaneki and Touka's relationship (eventual TouKen). Will span through :re.
1. Eyepatch

**Hi all. So, I wrote this a while back, and I figured I might as well post it. I may or may not continue...if I do, it will be a series of one-shots revolving around Kaneki and Touka's relationship (I love these two). There will probably be manga spoilers later on, but I'll give you a warning ahead of time (assuming I continue). I'll also be switching between both POV's. Anyway, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think?**

 **Setting** : After Kaneki leaves Anteiku (to, in his words, become stronger).

 **I don't own these characters _._**

* * *

 **Touka**

* * *

Eyepatch.

That's what they called him.

It was a simple name, really, one so aptly chosen that it was almost moronic in its blatancy. Just a description of a boy who wasn't a boy. Not to them.

No.

To them, he was a monster.

It shouldn't have made any difference to Touka. After all, every ghoul was given a similar title:

Rabbit.

Gourmet.

Devil Ape.

Black Dog.

Owl.

But for some reason, it _did_ make a difference. Not because it was inaccurate from the CCG's standpoint (the likes of which she couldn't care less about, anyway). Not because it bothered _him_ (or so Touka assumed), or because of the fact that he was considered dangerous enough to have his name plastered all over the news like some high school campaign flyer, or even because it put him at risk (although she silently admitted that this did, in fact, bother her. More than just a little).

Still, what Touka hated most about the name "Eyepatch" was simply that she _heard_ it. Because if that persona, that title, that pursuit, was whispered on the lips of the Doves,

then she wouldn't be allowed to forget it (him).

He still existed in this world, away from Anteiku. Away from Hinami (at least until she went to stay with him). Away from the Manager, from Yomo and Irimi and Koma.

Away from Touka.

Even that human friend of his—the boisterous one with the scruffy orange hair and the eyes that were _this close_ to seeing too much, to knowing too much—hadn't seen him. Instead, to Touka, he was just another reminder.

A reminder that he had changed.

A reminder that he had chosen.

A reminder...

...that he was _gone_.

Eyepatch.

That's what they called him.

 _Shitty Kaneki_.

That's what Touka called him. Because he was there, and then he wasn't.

* * *

 **Kaneki**

* * *

 _Protect_.

That's what he was thinking. It was the word that, more than any other, came slicing through his thoughts. Driving him. Calling him. Denying him.

Killing him.

It was the word that kept him from going back to Anteiku. Back to Hinami (although, as it turned out, she eventually came to stay with him). Back to Hide. Back to the Manager, to Yomo and Irimi and Koma.

Back to Touka.

He had to protect them, had to keep them safe. And to do that, he had to become stronger. Kaneki was tired of being weak. He was tired of being useless. He was tired of _not being able to do anything_.

And so he trained and he fought and he pushed his body to its limits, and when that wasn't enough, he pushed even further. During the day, all was ceaseless movement—running and fighting and investigating new leads, new targets. Training with Banjou and eventually Tsukiyama. The ceaselessness of it all became easy.

It was the _resting_ that was hard. The stopping. The lack of forward motion. There were nights when, after helping Hinami with her vocabulary and sending her to bed, he would make his way to the roof and swing his legs over the edge, staring out across Tokyo's cityscape. It was always the same edge—the far one, facing north—for he knew that if he leapt down and walked that way, for miles and miles and miles, he would eventually reach Anteiku.

Kaneki wasn't sure why he did it, exactly. Perhaps it was to reassure himself that it was still there. That _they_ were still there. That it hadn't gone up in smoke and flames; that, even though Dove activity had increased in the area, they (she) would be okay in that unassuming little coffee shop.

But really, at the core of it all, Kaneki sat there leaning over the edge—through wind or snow or rain—staring through the city lights and wondering just which one belonged to Anteiku, because he missed that place. He missed them. He missed her. How was she doing, he wondered? _What_ was she doing?

Probably studying.

Hopefully sleeping.

Definitely hating his guts.

(Perhaps, though of course he would never know it, she, too, was staring out over the city, a pillow clutched to her chest, as she leaned her head against her bedroom window. And if she just so happened to be watching in his direction...well, she wouldn't admit it. Not even to Hinami).

But as long as she was safe, he thought, it shouldn't matter (it did).

The roof was a lonely place...but it was also a sacred place. It was the place where Kaneki stored his thoughts—the pensive ones, the ones he never shared with anybody else, not even Hinami—and sealed them away in a tightly-wrapped package, only to be opened again the next night.

 _Protect_.

That's what he was thinking during the day.

But at night, on those sacred evenings, he thought only of her.

 _Touka_.


	2. Rabbit

**Hi guys. So, this just so happens to follow rather nicely after my first chapter, but I might jump around in the future. This also follows canon rather closely...but I have a few ideas for later that might diverge a little. Thanks for reading, and please review! :)**

 **Setting:** When Kaneki gives Touka the rabbit keychain, and later, when they meet on the bridge.

 **I don't own these characters.**

* * *

 **Kaneki**

* * *

It was raining on the day Kaneki found the rabbit keychain. He was on his way back from the bookstore, Hinami in tow (precariously so, as she was attempting to read her new book and carry an umbrella at the same time). Around them, droplets plummeted from the sky like so many silent petitions, taking Tokyo's colored cityscape and painting it grey.

Kaneki loved the rain. It was an honest, unbridled thing, let loose from the clouds above—mournful yet refreshing, pensive yet pure. Behind him, Hinami stepped into a puddle and giggled before hopping away, her book closing with a solid _thump_. He turned his head to the side and smiled.

It was then that he saw it: a large, glistening shop window with a display of various trinkets on the other side, arranged atop a draped, scarlet cloth. He stopped. They were mostly trivial things—colorful bookmarks and warm scarves with cartoon kittens knitted along the edges; an assortment of themed coffee mugs (these also had kittens on them); lunch boxes shaped like fruits and vegetables (why anyone would want a lettuce-themed lunch box, he wasn't sure); and there, in the center, was a collection of keychains.

He spotted the rabbit at once.

Without thinking, Kaneki leaned forward, his fingers pressing against the glass; a ghostly outline twirled along the outside of his handprint.

Images came, each one as fleeting as the patter of raindrops around him:

 _A white mask with tall ears, gripped tightly between pale fingers._

 _A distinct_ click _as a cup of coffee is set before him; he looks down, breathing in the scent of the beverage that binds his past and present, and sees the intricately swirled pattern of a rabbit in the foam._

 _A button clipped to the lapel of a school uniform._

 _Violet eyes: a mixture of accusation and carefully-contained laughter—and something else, he thinks, but it vanishes before he can name it—as she catches him reading for the third time that day._

Hinami caught up with him and followed his wide-eyed gaze. She tugged lightly on the sleeve of his sweater.

Kaneki swallowed.

 _Protect_.

He had to remember that word. He had to steel himself with it. Otherwise….

"Onii-chan?" Hinami tugged again at his sleeve, more urgently this time.

He blinked. Pulled his hand away from the glass. Willed himself to forget those violet eyes—no—to _remember_ them. To remember what he fought for.

Kaneki glanced down at Hinami, apology written in the upward lilt of his voice. "You said Touka-chan is taking her exams soon?"

Hinami's eyes glistened; she was more observant than she let on, he thought. More observant, and more resilient. "Yes. Next week." She nodded bravely and hugged her book with one arm.

He sighed thoughtfully and looked once more at that rabbit keychain. He couldn't see her—it wasn't safe yet—but this one small, precious, trivial thing, he could do.

Because he needed to know.

 _She_ needed to know.

That he remembered.

Kaneki gently patted Hinami's head, inclining his own, and then they walked into the shop.

* * *

 **Touka**

* * *

It was sunny on the day Touka received the keychain. The first thing she realized (or rather, she _would_ realize, but not until much later) was that she whispered his name, and she said _Kaneki_ , instead of _Shitty Kaneki_. Because even though she was still angry, still confused, still (dare she admit it?) hurt, she could not hate him forever.

Kaneki was simply not a person deserving of such derision, because he was, at his core, good and kind and gentle.

Even if he abandoned them (her).

Even if he was self-righteous and naive and a _complete one-eyed half bastard_.

Such was the content of her conflicted thoughts as Touka brushed past Yoriko and went running out of the school doors, the rabbit keychain bouncing along as she pumped her arms with each step.

She must've looked like a complete idiot, a painfully cliche high school girl, as she went charging down the street, her violet eyes hopeful in spite of their sting.

 _Hinami said he was close_ , she thought.

 _She said…._

 _Maybe…._

She ran until her legs ached more than the pressure behind her eyes, until she knew (long after she knew) that he was gone. Touka stood in the street and rested her hands against her legs. Her ragged breathing was all she could hear. There were no cars. No humans. No ghouls. Just the street and the keychain and that sun, so relentless, as it beat down upon her back.

She was glad it was not raining. That, most certainly, would've driven the cliche image just a little too far. Touka sniffed. Drew a breath in. Squeezed the rabbit until she thought it might explode. Wished it _would_ explode, if only to make her feel better (it wouldn't). Then she straightened her back but kept her head lowered and her shoulders slumped as she looked down at the little token in her palm.

"That is...unfair of you, Kaneki," she said, to no one at all, for only the sun was listening.

(If only she had looked up instead of down...she just might have caught a flash of white hair and the dull glimmer of an eyepatch as he turned away).

* * *

The sky was violet on the day Touka finally saw him again. The air was warm and clear. She had slipped twice on her way up the bridge steps, due to her haste. Kaneki, in contrast, was walking rather slowly away, his shoulders straight and determined, and he did not turn around until she shouted his name.

Many things filled the space between them.

A stretch of bridge, dry and open.

The faint wisp of a warm breeze.

Words, like rivers, flowing back and forth, but not quite loudly enough to be spoken just yet.

Touka was struck by the placid calm of his gaze—the normalcy of it, as though nothing had changed. Here stood Kaneki, such a small (great) distance away, and after all of the words she had saved for him, all of the rivers she had hoped to cross, she had no idea what to say to him.

Should she ask him how he was doing?

Make a joke about his white hair?

Kick him hard enough to send him flying over the railing?

Or should she say nothing at all, and wait for him to explain himself?

 _How…._

 _Just how…._

 _Can I convince him to come back_?

In the end, it didn't matter. She accused him of being selfish (as she always did). He attempted to justify himself (as he had in the first place) by saying that he wanted to protect the ghouls of Anteiku. But as he finished, he did a curious thing, his hand reaching up to touch his chin.

His tell.

After that, well...Touka had never been all that great at controlling her temper. She attacked him—out of anger, hurt, desperation, or spite, she wasn't sure—and Kaneki blocked every swing with measured ease.

 _Protect_?

What a ridiculous notion.

 _In what way_ , she seethed, kicking and spinning and throwing punch after punch (to no avail), _is abandonment a way to protect someone_?

She was used to abandonment—first by her mother, then her father, and at last, by Ayato. But this was different, somehow. Such a betrayal, a stark, unprecedented _wrong_ , simply because it came from him. Kaneki didn't abandon people. He _wouldn't_. And yet, here he was….

It wasn't him.

She told him as much. That he didn't know himself, that he had lost his way. That he was wrong.

And then she said ( _why_ did she have to say it?) that he didn't belong at Anteiku.

He stopped blocking her punches after that.

Touka ended up on top of him, pounding weakly against his chest, as he stared brokenly into the sky.

She tangled her fists in the dark fabric of his shirt as her vision blurred. "Why," she pleaded, "did you have to change?"

"...why, indeed?"

Later, she regretted it. Every inch of it. The Manager had been right—she needed to learn to listen to people—for there was no way he would come back after an outburst like that. Touka leaned away from the desk in her room, laden with open books and scribbled notes, and closed her eyes. She pictured his face as it once was: kind, and honest, and maybe a little nervous.

If only it had gone differently….

 _Next time_ , she thought, _if there is a next time...I'll listen, instead. Like I should have in the first place. He may be wrong on some levels, but_ ….

The truth was simply that she needed to remember that boy, needed to help _Kaneki_ remember that boy, the one he truly was, beneath the pain he so tightly wrapped around himself.

She needed to know.

 _He_ needed to know.

That she remembered.


	3. Midnight's Silver

**A/N: Well, I'm not sure how I feel about this one. But here it is.**

 **Setting:** A scenario in which Kaneki returns to Anteiku the night before the CCG raid.

* * *

 **Kaneki**

* * *

To Kaneki, the world was a collection of words. Spoken and unspoken, read and written, these words were compiled and woven together into a tapestry that was as vast as it was intricate. Each sentence was a thread; each thought, a stitch.

It was the middle of the night. He was standing amidst the lazy fall of a first snow, staring up at Anteiku's shuttered windows and wondering just how he might describe the place to someone who had never been there before. It was just a distraction, really. A silly game that would allow him to gather his thoughts (procrastinate) before he went inside.

Assuming it was even unlocked at such an unspeakable hour.

It wasn't (he knew he should've asked the Manager for a key).

Kaneki leaned the crown of his snow-colored hair against Anteiku's wall and sighed. What a stupid idea—going back in the middle of the night. Of course everyone was asleep. They were, unlike him, relatively normal people (barring the fact that they were ghouls), who would rather spend their nights resting than sitting atop a roof and staring bleary-eyed into the distance.

Then again, perhaps a night of gathering his thoughts would do him some good.

For he would _need_ to gather his thoughts before he spoke with Touka. Assuming she would allow him to speak. And assuming she was there in the first place. After their... _encounter_...on the bridge, speculations (frail, diminutive, and shadowed with guilt) were all he could make.

Kaneki closed his eyes. He pictured the inside of Anteiku, separated from him now by only a slab of concrete wall:

 _The chime of a golden doorbell. Footsteps clicking atop smooth, hardwood floors. A back shelf lined with jars of coffee beans and glistening mugs. A low, warm level of volume as customers lean across small tables, deep in conversation and deeper in coffee. The wrinkle that forms between Yomo's brow when he scowls. The way Koma tosses a rag over his shoulder when he chuckles. Irimi's unbreakable calm, as smooth and seamless as ivory. Nishio, ever-bored, propped against the counter. The way the Manager frowns and leans forward just slightly when he has something important to say. And Touka's eyes—violet and deep and mildly annoyed, but not always. Sometimes, they shine._

 _Those are the best days—the days when her eyes are just a little less brooding and a little more jovial._

Kaneki was yanked from his reverie by the grating sound of a window sliding open. "Oi, creep."

He stepped away from the wall and looked up. There, glaring down upon him in a frumpy sweater and a mess of dark hair, stood Touka. She seemed to lose some of her gumption when their eyes met; she folded her arms across her chest and swallowed.

Kaneki wiped a few droplets of melted snow from his forehead. "Touka-chan…."

"It's the middle of the night."

"I know. I, uh, don't have a key."

She sniffed; rubbed at her arms as the night's chill swept into her room. "Dumbass." Her gaze flicked away, then back again. "Well," her sigh was forced and unconvincing, "come on, then. You'll get sick if you stay out there all night. Not that I care, or anything…." her voice trailed away as she stepped back from the window.

Kaneki rubbed at his neck. "Should I climb up there?"

Her head popped out again, just as fast. "No, you creep. I'll come downstairs and let you in. One sec."

Left to wonder just how this conversation would go, Kaneki stood before Anteiku's door and waited.

* * *

 **Touka**

* * *

To Touka, the world was a collection of actions. Choices, movements, and catalysts were things that she knew best. Ghouls were born with the unfortunate need to _do something_ , after all, whether that be killing or saving or hiding or running. The specifics didn't matter. The consequences did. And there were always consequences, _always_ , even if her only offense was inheriting the blood type of her parents.

Of course, once her parents were gone, Touka committed many legitimate offenses in the name of survival. Not just for her—but for Ayato. She learned that she had to _act_ , had to _do something_ , if she wanted to keep her little brother safe. Nobody else would, after all. Nobody else was there. And so she became quite adept at doing what needed to be done, in her mind. At fighting. Hiding. Running. Killing. Touka became so accustomed to choice and action—these being tied together as a singular unit—that she knew little else.

That is, until she met the Manager—who, at the time, seemed to be little more than an overbearing old man with a sempiternal squint. Still, he showed her another way. A way that required patience and restraint and trust. A way that required community, where before she had scoffed at the word— _there is no such thing as a safe community of ghouls_. But she had been wrong.

Touka slowly (painfully) learned the ways of restraint over the years. That is, she learned them academically, in her mind, through lecture after lecture by those around her. _Think before you speak, Touka. Calm down. That attitude of yours isn't helping. There's nothing we can do right now, and you need to accept that._

But the process of absorbing these things into her will, into her heart and her bones and her blood, was far more daunting than the mind. She still lashed out. She still chose to act brazenly at times. She still failed to listen rather than speak. Even after all those years, she was still learning. Still changing.

And so, in full knowledge of this, Touka silently berated herself for her poor reception of Kaneki as she made her way downstairs, a bath towel draped over one arm. _I told myself I was going to listen to him this time…._ she pulled on her rumpled sweater and ran a hand through her hair, scowling. _Think before you speak, Touka. Think before you speak._

With a sigh and one last yank on her sweater, Touka unfastened the bolt on Anteiku's door and pulled it open.

It was strange: for some reason, it almost seemed as though she had only imagined him out there, standing in the snow. As though she would open the door to find nobody waiting.

But there he stood, a testament to her sanity. His eyes—silver and sharp—gleamed in the moonlight. Kaneki inclined his head. "Thanks," he said as she ushered him inside.

Touka locked the door behind them. "Here." She handed him the towel and flipped on a light switch, turning it to the lowest setting. When Kaneki saw the lights, his lips twitched upward in a curious smile. "You're soaking wet," Touka grumbled as she watched several clumps of snowflakes dissolve on his shoulder. "How long have you been out there?"

His smile faded in lieu of a calm, closed expression, similar to the one he wore on the bridge that day. "Only about an hour, I think."

Touka watched as he haphazardly scrubbed the towel through his hair. "Oh," she started, trying and failing to sound casual, "how about a cup of coffee? It should help warm you up."

Kaneki's silver eyes blinked at her, their neutral tones brightened by surprise, before he nodded. "Thanks. I can make it, if you want."

"I've got it," Touka said over her shoulder as she headed for the counter. "Besides, you aren't allowed to move until you've dried off. If you leave water all over the floor, I'll kill you." She pulled two mugs from the back shelf and began making the coffee.

Kaneki pulled the towel over his shoulders and slipped off his boots. She didn't look up, but Touka could feel his gaze as he watched her from across the room. "I thought you moved out," he said, his head tipping quizzically to the side.

Touka nodded absently. "I did," she confirmed. "But I'm scheduled to open tomorrow, and some of my stuff is still here. The Manager lets me stay in my old room when I need it."

"That's nice." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to determine whether he was safe enough to leave the doormat just yet. "So...were you staying up to study, or…?"

"Yeah." Touka carefully poured hot water in a circular motion. "Lucky for you, I happened to look outside and see your weird-ass white hairdo through the snow." She finished pouring as Kaneki chuckled nervously, and then he carefully crossed the room and seated himself at the counter.

They were quiet for several long moments as Touka finished brewing the coffee. She prepared a small mug for each of them, and then she came around to sit on the stool beside his. Kaneki stared into the hot liquid; Touka saw his shoulders rise and fall as he quietly sighed.

"Is Hinami still…?" she started, conflicted by a storm of eagerness and hesitancy to fill the silence.

Kaneki tapped a finger against the rim of his mug. "I tucked her in before I left," he answered. "Banjou and Tsukiyama will bring her over tomorrow."

Touka chanced a sip at her coffee; the steam, faint and enticing, curled into the air. She set her mug back down with a gentle _clink_. "Then...are you…." her gaze faltered as she considered how she might word the question. She decided (as she usually did) to go for the straightforward approach. "Are you back?"

He was quiet for a moment as he took a sip of his coffee, as well. She watched as his haggard features softened upon tasting the beverage, his tightened brow relaxing and his eyes opening just a tad wider. Then he faced her. "Yes," he said simply.

Touka supposed that she could've kept her smile at bay—small and nearly-indistinguishable as it was—but she decided not to. It was genuine, after all. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "Well...I'm glad," she said, decisively.

Kaneki looked stunned.

"I mean…" she swallowed and rubbed at her tired eyes. "I mean, it's about time. You one-eyed half bastard."

Kaneki smiled, then—a real smile, like the ones he used to give, back when his hair was black and his steps were unsure. It was much wider than Touka's. Much more open. But it was genuine in the same kind of way, and for some reason, her cheekbones felt curiously warm.

He took another sip of his coffee. "Well," he said, "I'm sorry it took me so long."

"I'm sorry, too. About...what happened. On the bridge." She said it quickly, as though the words would close themselves off if she didn't rush them.

Kaneki hummed thoughtfully. He tugged at the collar of his shirt and frowned. "It's okay, Touka." His features had settled back into that dismally sad expression he wore so often now. She wanted to wipe it away, to bring the smile back, but she didn't know how. "You were right, you know."

"..."

"It was...selfish of me to leave like that. I thought I was protecting you guys. But…." He tipped his head back and looked up toward the coffee shop's dimmed lights. "But I can't do it, you know? By myself, I mean. I'm not strong when I'm alone. All I did...was hurt you."

Touka did something in that moment that she had never done before—had never imagined herself doing—and she knew of it only as a fleeting sensation that others had done for her, during those times when she had been so lost. She reached out and pressed her hand over Kaneki's, where it lay bunched and desperate atop the counter.

"Kaneki." The white-haired boy stared at her, shocked, perhaps, at the atypical gentleness of her touch. "I forgive you. Don't...don't be sad, okay?" It was a rather childish thing to say. Simple and fleeting. But for her, for them, it was true. And that was enough.

"Touka…."

She half-smiled and pulled her hand away. "And...if you have to leave again...make sure you come back," she added, before finishing the remnants of her coffee. "You asshole."

Kaneki rubbed at his forehead and chuckled. "I will," he told her. "I promise."

And he meant it.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, after the battle with the CCG, Anteiku was nothing more than a smoldering ruin. Touka stood before the wreckage, and she remembered his words.

The falling snow melted on her cheeks. It tasted of salt.

 _He'll come back_ , she told herself as she knitted her hands together in a prayer.

 _And he'll need a place to come back to.  
_

She would build a place for him. For them. And she would wait.

 _He'll come back._

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think?**


End file.
